Reporting Blackmail?

"Absurd!" Snape slammed his hand onto the desk with a startling bang. "Assaulting a classmate on the very first day? What does he think he's doing!"

Rosier hurried forward to stir the pot, his tone inflammatory. "You're absolutely right, Professor! This Riddle is completely lawless. He really treats the wizarding world like his old Muggle school—no rules, no discipline, and he clearly doesn't hold you in any regard at all!"

Snape cast a cold, venomous glare his way. Rosier was silenced instantly, like a rooster with its throat pinched, not daring to even draw a full breath.

Snape's voice was colder than the stone walls of the dungeons. "Rosier, whether he holds me in regard or not is not for you to judge; I shall determine that myself. I understand the situation now, and I will handle it. Now, get out."

"Yes, yes, Professor!" The trio feigned grievance as they responded, turning to scurry away. Once the door was shut, they couldn't suppress their grins, feeling smug as they imagined Tom being punished by Snape until he cried for mercy and was expelled from Hogwarts.

After they left, Snape's expression remained grim, his brow furrowed deep enough to crush a fly.

He had seen his fair share of arrogant students, but this was the first time he had encountered one who started acting so brazenly this early on.

Even that "Lord" back in the day hadn't acted like Tom, taking down three roommates on his first day and using a whip to "educate" them.

When Albus Dumbledore had warned him to keep an eye on Tom yesterday, he hadn't taken it seriously; he hadn't expected the boomerang to return so quickly.

This boy was definitely no ordinary problem student; he needed to be taught a lesson.

Snape made up his mind to handle it personally, lest that old busybody meddle and smooth things over. He was determined to give Tom a lesson today that he would never forget, ensuring he learned exactly who set the rules in Slytherin.

The staircases at Hogwarts were never easy to deal with; of the hundred and forty-some flights, most loved to wander about. One moment they might be between the second and third floors, and the next, they could be up at the top of a tower.

These stairs weren't without their patterns: some shifted at certain hours, some reacted to the weight of footsteps, and others moved if you stomped three times. If you were lucky, you could find a shortcut—they were essentially the wizarding world's "automated elevators."

But Tom and Daphne, being newcomers, knew nothing of this. To avoid being late, they set off half an hour early. Tom, annoyed by the slow pace of the stairs, gave a step a sharp kick.

Good heavens, that staircase instantly teleported, sending the pair straight to the top floor.

Tom was so angry he wanted to curse, but the two could only trudge downward, moving on tiptoe for fear of provoking the "staircase masters" again.

After all that trouble, they reached the Transfiguration classroom just as the bell was about to ring.

As Tom walked in, he muttered to himself: Once I've fully researched this wretched castle, I'll make sure to change the staircase rules into something even more disgusting. I won't be the only one suffering; I'll drag all of Hogwarts down with me.

There were already many students in the classroom. A tabby cat was crouched on the podium, its eyes narrowed as it scrutinized the students.

Tom glanced at it, knowing full well it was Professor McGonagall in disguise, but he didn't expose her, walking inside with a swagger.

"Riddle! Over here!" Hermione spotted him and raised her hand high, pointing to the empty seat beside her. Her tone was enthusiastic; both being Muggle-born, having a fellow countryman was better than being alone.

Tom walked over and sat down. Daphne followed, pouting and looking reluctant, though she didn't dare defy him.

No sooner had he sat down than Hermione asked impatiently, "What do you think of Slytherin? I read in a book that they're quite hostile toward Muggle-borns."

Tom raised an eyebrow, teasing her with a cocky grin. "It's alright. My classmates are quite 'enthusiastic.' They even took the initiative to 'spar' with me last night."

"Spar?" Hermione blinked, then pressed, "But the books say they don't like Muggle-borns. Weren't you bullied?"

"Bullied?" Tom scoffed, his tone insufferable. "Not at all. My roommates were very 'friendly.' Once I beat them up, they became quite sensible—much more well-behaved than the kids at my Muggle primary school."

Hermione was left speechless. After a moment, she patted her textbook boastfully. "Have you read your textbooks? I've already finished the third volume last night and memorized most of the key points."

This annoyed Daphne, who rolled her eyes and said disdainfully, "If magic could be learned just by reading books, would there be so many Squibs in the world? Don't flatter yourself."

Hermione flared up instantly, raising her chin in retaliation. "I have magical talent, so naturally, I can learn from books! Or do you purebloods expect magic to just crawl into your brains while you lie around?"

"At least we don't treat magic like some rare novelty," Daphne retorted, her voice dropping to a whisper that remained perfectly clear.

"Magic has been around us since we were born, unlike you—making a fuss over nothing like a country bumpkin." She cast a sidelong glance at Hermione, terrified that Tom might hear her and ruin her image as a gentle young lady.

Tom sat in the middle, expressionless, though he found it amusing. He hadn't expected the delicate-looking Daphne to be so sharp-tongued when arguing.

As the two traded stinging remarks, Tom felt his ears were the primary target, and the noise was giving him a headache.

"It's eight-fifty-five," Tom finally spoke, his tone flat but piercing.

Hermione froze, looked at the wall clock, and instantly wilted. She huffed, dropped her posture, and lowered her head to pretend to read.

Daphne shot her a triumphant look and leaned toward Tom to whisper about how Hermione was making a mountain out of a molehill.

A few minutes later, the bell rang, but Professor McGonagall did not appear.

Just as the students were whispering, two people came charging in, panting and stumbling, nearly colliding with the doorframe.

"Th-thank goodness, we aren't late..." Harry gasped, clutching his knees with a relieved smile as he pulled Ron toward the empty seats in the back.

Ron was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. He scanned the room, and seeing no sign of Professor McGonagall, he immediately relaxed, his voice booming. "These damn stairs are cursed! They almost spun us dizzy! Good thing we aren't late. The professor is actually later than us—if I'd known, I wouldn't have run so fast. My lungs feel like they're going to burst!"

Ron spoke without thinking and didn't lower his voice, so even from the back row, his words were heard clearly at the podium.

Tom turned his head, looking at Ron with pure pity. What was beating up his roommates compared to this? Ron was the true warrior—daring to badmouth a professor behind her back on the very first day. He was practically begging for death.

"Good morning, gentlemen, ladies."

No sooner had Ron finished speaking than the tabby cat on the podium suddenly leaped up, transforming in mid-air into Professor McGonagall. Dressed in emerald-green robes with a stern expression, she silenced the entire class instantly.

Ron's mouth hung open wide enough to fit an egg. His smile froze, his face turned deathly pale, and he was completely stunned—had she heard every word?

Professor McGonagall swept a faint, mocking glance over Ron before addressing the class. "I am pleased that no one was late for the first lesson. I hope you will maintain this punctuality—at the very least, I shall not be late."

"It's over... she heard everything..." Ron slumped his head, letting out a faint whimper. He felt completely defeated, convinced his Hogwarts career was doomed before it had even begun.